“You don’t laugh at me.”
His laugh built. It had been a while since he’d laughed.
She slapped his chest. “You have a new face and I’m not sure I like it. Too pretty.”
He grabbed for her hand but forgot he was bandaged up, she danced away.
“Chee lun sin.”
He laughed again. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Good. Sou hai. That will teach you to forget.” She jabbed him hard in the side.
“Hey.”
“You sit on that stool and eat. Then we talk.”
“I didn’t ask you to come, or cook for me, and I’m not up for talking.”
“It’s not an option.”
“Jiao, I’m not good to be around. I don’t want you here. I’m not the same.”
“Boohoo. Are you superhuman and don’t need food now?” She pointed at a stool. “Sit. Eat.”
He ate, it was good. It took the spinning out of his head. She watched him like he was made of soap bubbles and might pop any minute. When he’d finished she said, “You tell me what you need.”
This was a trap. If he told her to go away, she’d dig in, and he’d never be rid of her. If he told her to stay, she’d remind him he didn’t love her. He knew her moods still but he’d lost the knack of knowing what to say. The unfiltered truth was best.
“I need to be alone.”
She considered. She put food she’d made for reheating in the fridge, cleaned the sink and benchtop and stacked the dishwasher. He had no idea what she was thinking.
“Okay.”
“Just like that?”
She shrugged. “You know what you need better than anyone else.”
“Holy fuck. This is you agreeing with me, easy as pie.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I don’t agree with you. I don’t know you anymore. You said you were different. I can see that. You got knocked down and you don’t want to get up. I understand you’re tired, your head hurts and you’re angry. It’s okay, if this is who you are now, I have to respect that.”
What did she mean ‘didn’t want to get up’? He’d fought for months to be able to stand upright without needing support, to walk without limping, to think without having to wade through layers and layers of cloud, and to talk without speaking in tongues.
“I got up, Jiao. I got up. It took a little while but I got up.”
She leaned on the benchtop and fixed him with chocolate brown eyes. “No, Will, you’re only on your knees, but I understand. It would be very hard.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t feel the same.”
“Okay.”
“I feel this anger, always, here.” He tapped his chest, then ran his hand through his hair, dug his fingers into his scalp. That’s where it lived the anger, the scream—in his head and in his heart.
“Okay.”
He could feel them burn. “What is this with you? You never used to agree with me.”